It was the penmanship which excited the wonder of the Shawanoe more than did anything on which he had looked for many a day. He held the letter in his hand, and, for several minutes, scrutinized the writing with an interest that can hardly be described. Through the paper his keen eyes detected the faint tracery of some of the letters inside. Balancing the missive edgewise, between his thumb and forefinger, he gently pressed it until it partly spread open, despite the seal. Then, raising it before his face, he closed one eye as though he were aiming his arrow at something, and peeped within.
The glimpse of the writing was as pleasing to him as the sight of the circus is to the urchin who creeps under the canvas; and, though he could not decipher the meaning of a character, he stared for several minutes, almost holding his breath, as though he would force the secrets from the "Rosetta stone."
He had heard of such things before, but it was hard for his untutored mind to understand that what a man had said to his friend was in that little package, and when opened, it would speak the same message to him. His feelings must have been similar to those of his white brother, could he have seen the telephone of to-day perform its wonderful work.
"We write our words on the paper," said Ned, hoping to help the mind of the youth grasp the subject: "and when our friend gets the paper, there are the words looking him in the face."
Deerfoot inclined his head, as though he understood the explanation, but Ned saw that it was like the assent of the school-boy who doesn't wish his classmates to consider him stupid.
"If I should make a figure on the paper that looked like a deer, and some one should take it to you, and you looked at it, you would know that it was meant for a deer, wouldn't you?"
The Indian nodded emphatically this time: he clearly understood that.
"Suppose I should make some lines and characters which you and I agreed beforehand should mean, 'I am your friend and brother'; when those lines and characters were brought to you on paper, wouldn't you remember what they meant?"
The black eyes of Deerfoot sparkled. He had caught, for the first time in his life, an inkling of the mystery. He saw, as through a glass, darkly, the achievements of the white man who could forward his words hundreds of miles, hidden in a small piece of paper.
"Will my brother teach Deerfoot how to send his thoughts to the Great Spirit?"